


Home away from Heaven

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 05, Anna does not turn into a douchebag, BAMF Anna, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Gabriel, Big Brother Gabriel, Canon Divergent - Changing Channels, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Trickster Gabriel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War delivers an ultimatum, Anna escapes angel jail, and Gabriel joins the good guys sooner than he would have otherwise.<br/>The apocalypse goes a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home away from Heaven

Her head lolled on a boneless neck. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling, darting mindlessly from place to place as she lay prostrate on the soft ground of her silent prison.

Here, it was more than silence. Not only an absence of sound, but the nonexistence of it. Even if she had the presence of mind to scream, no one would hear it. In the highest security prison of the angels, no one could. Here, she was removed from existence. Proof of life only existed in self-awareness and the sporadic attention of her captors. 

She might as well be dead. 

For all intents and purposes, she was.

In her seamless, wall-less, indefensible prison she could not be sensed by any creature of magic, angel, or demon. She was cut off from the angelic chorus, from the grace of heaven, from the warmth of her father’s eternal love. In the moments where lucidity came to her in snatches of agony and crushing loneliness, she wished for the death she knew would never be granted to her. What was the need for all that nastiness when she could be kept here, in this pocket realm of non-existence, to be punished for all eternity?

Zachariah, was, above all else, a petty being.

He kept her drugged to the teeth and quite unable to feel much of anything most of the time. A small, but vital mercy—though he did not do it for her comfort. She knew, as he knew, she would have gone insane otherwise, and there was no worthwhile intelligence to be gained from an insane angel. She taught him that. The sensory deprivation alone was enough to drive her mad. 

Angels were never meant to be alone.

She did not know how long she had been imprisoned. Time moved strangely here, and she was not lucid for most of it. Still, she thought it was not as long as she feared. Maybe only weeks, or months. Not the years, the decades she had, in her darkest dreams, been imagining, surely? The horsemen could not have passed over the earth while she wasted away in this prison of inexistence? The world could not have burned by Lucifer’s hand? It was an impossibility. One she refused to entertain as anything other than a fiction brought on by her tortured mind. 

No. She would escape and help the Winchesters stop the ascension of Lucifer. She would save the Earth, her home away from heaven. The home of her mother, her father, her grandparents, her aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. She would save humanity because she loved them and they deserved to be saved.

All at once Anna became aware of her surroundings, Zachariah’s smothering poison banked for the moment and her human mind cleared enough to think. Her neck straightened and her eyes snapped into focus. Her true form railed against the prison of her vessel and she grit her teeth against the pain of being so constrained. It felt unnatural. Like a mountain forced inside a matchbox. On Earth it was bearable. The sensation of being less was muted, softened by the cocoon of mortality. Here her vessel was dying. There was no air, no food, nothing to sustain a human body. The longer Zachariah kept her here, the more her vessel lost its shape, turned soft and yellow at the edges like butter. She rubbed her fingers together gently and glimpsed a wink of bone through coagulated blood and dying flesh. 

Anna wondered if this was another element of Zachariah’s punishment. The perversion of being trapped inside a wasting vessel was both an affront to her angelic nature and horrifying in the most primal of ways. With her grace restrained as it was by Zachariah’s potions, she could not restore this body to life and health. Eventually it would waste away to nothing and she would be trapped in bone. Her muscles would decay as well until she was unable to move. Then there would be two prisons to contend with.

Anna flexed her hand and it responded sluggishly. 

If she was going to make her move, it had to be soon. Who knew when her consciousness would resurface again, if she would even be able to move when it did? Zachariah’s potions were not angelic in nature. They were witches brew, dark magic that made her cringe and spit every time they forced it down her throat. That Zachariah was consorting with witches did not surprise her. He worked under her for long enough that she knew his predilections better than most. That no other in his task force, in her old garrison, had spoken up against such comportment did. Despite what Castiel believed, not all angels were mindless followers. She had come across many in her time with the bearing and the will to go against orders when they felt it just. Admittedly, these were paltry rebellions in comparison to the one Castiel was considering, but the instinct was there. Angels could choose their own destinies. Anna was not the first. She hoped, thinking of the guilty look in her brother’s eye as he led her into Zachariah’s trap, that she was not the last.

Anna studied her prison, searching for any overlooked crack or loose seam in the makeup. Some small flaw in the insular universe. She only had to work at one knot and the whole construct would unravel. It was a tenuous thing, her prison. Keeping an angel contained always was. You had to hold them outside time, between universes, in the void. The void was never meant to contain life, and as reduced as she was in this form, with Zachariah’s poison running through her, she could still feel it trying to force her out, send her back to where she belonged. All she had to do was work with it. Give it some way to access her prison. The pocket universe would unsnap like a rubber band and send her flying back to Earth. 

She must have searched for hours, only bull-headed stubbornness keeping the potion in check and stopping her from becoming a drooling mass on the floor again. Eventually, she would find something. It was just a matter of how long it would take. Even the smallest inconsistency would be enough. Anael had held Zachariah’s position when he had been just a fledgling warrior under Gabriel’s command. A prison of his design was not enough to hold her. 

_There_ , she thought triumphantly.

Anna smiled to herself as she fingered a small blade of grass next to her littlest, blackest toe. It was an innocuous thing, something Zachariah had probably not thought twice about when he was overseeing the construction of her prison. Someone had to have put it there deliberately, a hidden ally who knew what she knew about Zachariah. That he had never spent much time among humanity, despised them, called them mud monkeys, mindless rutting apes unworthy of his time or attention. That he did not have the knowledge to understand such a simple deception. 

As she ran the pad of her finger across its edge, the grass sliced her finger unnaturally deep from tip to joint, exposing a black mass of decaying flesh underneath yellow skin that drooped like candle wax in the sun. 

Just one instance of unreality, just one was enough. 

Her cage shook as the void registered the illogic of her world and began to worm inside and pull it apart, brick by brick. 

Zachariah should have known. Had he done his job and watched over the earth like he was supposed to, he would have. 

_Irony_ , she thought.

Anael would fall again, and this time she would be taking someone with her. 

\--

“Nuh uh,” said Loki, tutting. “That’s not the way you treat a lady,” he bent close to the man as though whispering a secret into his ear. “Let me show you, sport.”

With a flourish, the Trickster turned and produced bouquet of peach roses for the owl-eyed young woman. “For you.”

She emerged cautiously from behind the dumpster and, calmed somewhat by the trickster’s genial smile and the way her boyfriend was trussed up like a spring turkey, cradled the flowers with reverent hands. 

“You can head on home miss, just… don’t go mentioning this to anyone, okay?”

When she looked conflicted about leaving her boyfriend, abusive or otherwise, in the hands of a strange man with entirely too many teeth, the Trickster put a hand over his heart. “I won’t harm a single hair on his pretty, witless head. I promise.”

Looking relieved, the young woman hightailed it out of the theatre-side alley, leaving her boyfriend red-faced and screaming behind his gag for her to stop. Loki looked down at the pathetic excuse for a man and thought it fitting. After all, a minute before Loki arrived he was ignoring _her_ screams for him to stop too. 

The Trickster chuckled to himself and left the guy there. The 8:30 session of _Shutter Island_ didn’t get out for another hour and a half. The kid might learn something in the interim. 

And just in case he was thinking about assaulting that girl again, well…

The Trickster snapped his fingers and there was a muffled scream from the alley. He smirked to himself. Go big or go home he always said. He tucked the single hair he plucked from the kids head into his pocket and smirked to himself, snug as a bug in a rug. He had a promise to keep after all.

He bit into a Mars Bar as he waited, leaning against the wall of the red-brick theatre, for whoever had summoned him. The kid in the ticketing booth watched him with paranoid, blood-shot eyes, scratching at his skin restlessly. Ugh, drug addict, he noted disinterestedly. Druggo’s were so passé, the self-destructive ones anyway. They were already doing his work for him. 

_Still…_

The trickster waved at him jauntily, smirking when the kid flinched and hit his head on the shelf behind him, spilling pamphlets and a box of ticket stubs over his head, as well as the big-gulp cherry cola he had planted. Grumbling under his breath, the kid hung the on break sign on the booth’s window and slinked off to the bathroom, giving him the stink-eye. The Trickster winked back and watched him go, snickering to himself.

“So this is how your kind have fun, is it? Tying up college kids and bullying drop outs… how sad…”

The Trickster didn’t freeze, but it was a near thing.

“War,” he said, turning and giving the Horseman a bright smile. “Long time no see. Love what you’ve done with the face. Is it new?”

“You could say that,” said War, smiling in that distracting way of his. All smoke, no cigar that one. “The last one didn’t stick after your favourite playthings got a hold of my ring.”

The trickster whistled. “Lucifer used you to bait the Winchesters? That’s cold.”

War smiled wider, cold and savage. “Yes. It was.” War licked his lips and tilted his head like a predator focusing in on something vulnerable. “I don’t appreciate being leashed by some God forsaken angel throwing a tantrum.” 

The Trickster thrust hands in his pockets casually, restraining his instinctual anger. Even after all this time, family loyalty still hit him hard and fast it seemed. “Sure seems like it. Don’t know what you want me to do about it though.”

“I want you to kill Lucifer.”

“…Excuse me?”

War grinned like a shark at feeding time. “I want you to cast the Devil back into his cage so I can go on doing war as I ought to. This vessel constrains me. This pitiful planet makes me feel small. I am War. I stretch across galaxies. I am present in every living being from the smallest amoeba to the God of this world and the God’s of all the rest. I am eternal. I will not be bound to this infantile planet by its would-be destroyer. You and the Pagans that preceded him will end his tyranny and set me free.”

“Or what?” he asked, dread growing like a pit in his stomach.

“Or, while Lucifer has me bound, I will wage war on your kind until there is nothing left of you,” he hissed. “I’m sure the devil would not object to getting rid of his competition.”

“And what’s to stop me from killing you now and saving us all the hassle of your little ultimatum?” He asked casually.

“Do you really believe you can defeat War, little Pagan?”

“Dunno,” The Trickster shrugged, smirking, “but if the Winchesters managed it I think I’ve got a chance.”

Without warning the Trickster was thrown through the air towards the ticketing booth where the twitchy kid had just returned from the bathroom. He crashed through the booth, smashing it to splinters and crushing the kid, breaking his bones. The kid screamed and whimpered before his eyes went black and he lunged at the Trickster, almost taking his eye out with his bare hand. The Trickster teleported away from the rubble to where he had been standing before War bitch-slapped him, but the Horseman was already gone. In his place was the severed head of the kid he’d tied up and left in the alley, along with a message written in blood.

_5 days_

\--

“I’m going to flay you alive for this,” Zachariah hissed, his wet, beady eyes glaring at her with unrestrained malice. “I’m going to enjoy watching you scream _Anael_.”

Anna ignored him, as she’d been doing all night, and focused instead on following her intuition to where she could feel Castiel’s grace steadily waning. Her vessels newly reformed heart beat wildly in anxiety and fear for her younger brother, but her face was set and determined. She would not be too late, she could not be. Lucifer had risen and was laying waste to the Earth, but he did not yet have Sam as a vessel and Dean would never say yes to Michael, no matter what Zachariah taunted. The only loose end, Zachariah let slip after too long spent prying the truth out of him, was the Winchester’s half-brother Adam. He was not ideal, but if he said yes…

Anna swallowed and rounded the next corner at a run, pulling the struggling Zachariah along as well. In human form he was as harmless to her as a newborn kitten. He was an easy burden in all but his poisonous mouth. Despite his cruel words, Anna pressed on.

They could still stop this. 

The green room was exactly where Zachariah said it would be, and as Anna sprinted up the road towards the warehouse she could see Castiel struggling admirably to fend off four of Bereniel’s garrison. She put Zachariah to sleep and let him drop carelessly to the ground before jumping into the fray and putting her sword in Eremael before he could finish striking up through Castiel’s ribs. Castiel finished off Seleniel while she traded blows with her fleet-footed nestmate Danael. Seleniel’s dying scream was distraction enough to give Anna the advantage. She thrust her sword through Danael’s back and he died in an explosion of white flame. 

Castiel swayed on his feet and Anna braced him with an arm around his waist. He clutched her shoulder gratefully, leaning into her support.

“Dean,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

They pushed on together, barging into the green room and sprinting through the many connecting rooms until they found the right one. Raphael stood before Dean, holding a hand out towards him, forcing a smile that looked unnatural even on his vessel. Anna analysed the situation quickly. Dean was too far away to reach without attracting Raphael’s attention. Adam stood closer to them, but was not the focus of Raphael’s machinations. Raphael wanted Dean to say yes, but would still take Adam if Dean proved uncooperative. And if there was one thing she knew it was that Dean would never say yes, not unless his family was threatened. She didn’t know where Sam was but she did know he wasn’t here. If she could secure Adam and Sam then the world would be safe for another day. If she could do that, they had a chance. 

Making her choice, Anna darted forward and pressed two fingers to Adam’s forehead. He slumped into her arms, unconscious. Raphael lifted his eyes to her and his wings manifested, a lightning storm of feathers and rage. 

“Anael!” He shouted, sonorous like thunder. 

She glanced at Castiel. “Get Dean out.”

Then, she ran.

\--

Castiel intercepted Raphael’s blade as he attempted to strike Anna from behind, holding him back long enough for her to get Adam out. If he knew his old commander, she would find Sam and get him and Adam somewhere safe, denying Raphael his leverage over Dean. All that remained was Raphael. 

Castiel dodged the Archangels strike, but was not quick enough to avoid the arm that caught his midsection and sent him sailing through several walls. 

Castiel got to his feet, blinking his vision clear and arrived in time to see Raphael grab Dean by the throat and shake him—hard.

Castiel leapt forward and body slammed into Raphael, taking him to the floor. 

“Run,” he rasped at Dean, “ _run!_ ”

Dean, ever loyal, _stupid_ Dean, hesitated. 

“Go!” Castiel roared, kicking out at Dean to get him moving while he struggled to pin Raphael to the floor. They had only moments. Why wasn’t Dean _moving?_

“Fuck that,” Dean said, reaching into the back of his jeans and unloading a clip into Raphael’s chest. It was barely enough to stun the Archangel, but enough time for Dean to haul Castiel to his feet and drag him towards the door. The minute their feet hit the threshold, Castiel spread his wings and put two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

Castiel screamed as Raphael’s hand caught one of his primary wings and _pulled_ hard enough that he felt something in his grace tear and shatter. This, he realised in the midst of the greatest agony he had ever known, was the strength of an Archangel. How did he ever hope to fight this?

Then Dean was yelling, shooting at Raphael again, screaming for him to get them out of there, and Castiel was struggling, trying so hard to comply, but Raphael had broken one of his primary wings. He could barely move what was left of it, let alone fly with it. It was impossible, what Dean asked, but he would try because Dean asked. 

They had no time, but Castiel could not make his broken wing move. It was gone, reduced to nothing more than scraps of ruined grace tied together by nothing more than his will not to let them fall. Grief caught him in a stranglehold as he realised he would never fly again. 

Dean screamed and Castiel turned on Raphael, throwing himself at the Archangel with righteous fury. He hit Raphael until his face was unrecognisable, heedless of the blows the archangel dealt in return. Neither used their swords, Castiel’s dropped somewhere in the green room, a casualty of their haste to escape, and Raphael’s lost in the struggle of their fistfight. 

It was for this reason, Castiel barely had time to blink in surprise before Raphael’s sword was coming down and impaling its owner through the throat. Raphael’s grace exploded outwards in a lightning show of grace and once it was done, Castiel fell to the side of his empty vessel, head hung low. 

“Dude,” Dean was saying. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Castiel looked up curiously and came face to face with someone he had been sure he would never see again. “Gabriel?” He whispered, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him. He was folded down impossibly small in such a vessel, but still, there was no mistaking the golden radiance of God’s Messenger, of his long lost brother.

Dean folded his arms and stared at Gabriel distrustfully, apparently not having heard Castiel’s exclamation. “Cas this is the Trickster. Pretty sure Sam’s told you about him. Likes just desserts, long walks in college campuses, killing me, trapping Sam in time loops, and just being an all around douchebag. Been aching to gank him for years.” 

“Mmm, yeah, talk dirty to me Deano,” Gabriel said, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Don’t think I won’t stake you just because you got rid of angel douche number two.”

Gabriel’s face contorted into something that might have been guilt before smoothing out again. He winked playfully at Dean. 

“Gabriel!” Castiel snapped. He’d had enough of this. Whatever ruse Gabriel was using to hide his identity from the Winchesters, it ended now. “Enough of this.”

“Gabriel?” Dean said gruffly, “who the fuck is _Gabriel?_ ”

“Never cracked open a bible Deano?” Gabriel said sadly.

Dean gave him the finger, looking furious and confused.

Castiel ignored Dean and watched as Gabriel turned his gaze on Castiel. After a moment of scrutiny his eyes brightened in recognition. “Castiel,” he said warmly, eyes dancing, “Not exactly a surprise considering your history with disobedience,” here Castiel frowned, “but still. Last I saw you, you seemed nice and cosy in Anna’s garrison. Change of heart?”

“Of leadership,” Castiel said shortly. “Things have changed since your abandonment Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

Dean was looking between them, a worried crease between his eyes.

Castiel was losing patience. His brother was taciturn as ever. It was… grating, under the circumstances. 

“Why are you here Gabriel? You have been gone for thousands of years, why return now?”

“That,” Gabriel said lightly, tapping his toe against the floor with idle interest, a mysterious smile playing at his lips, “is a story best told with company.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers.


End file.
